Out of character
by jhalya
Summary: Ichigo's pain is never easy to deal with, but Rukia has a way... nakama Hitsugaya, Matsumoto, Renji, Chad, Inoue, Ishida piece, IchiRuki-centric


**I began writing this after the **_**Lust**_** arc was finished, around the time the **_**Do you want to drown in us?**_** spread was published, so it sort of ignores further manga development. I finally published it to get it out of my system. Bear that in mind when reading this :) All that being said, I hope you enjoy and don't forget to review if you think it's worth it! Have fun!**

**DISCLAIMER: owned by Tite Kubo, aka not me.**

**WARNING: don't go crying OOC! It's there for a reason. It amuses me, that is ;)**

None of them could remember who was first to come up with the idea.

After a while, they bothered to care no more.

All they knew – and wanted to know, really – was that _it_ just had to be somewhere cold. With no sand.

And so, by the power of all things that are not entirely well thought out and employing a healthy dose of magic, they ended up in some nameless, unpopular resort, in a cozy, old chalet that was big enough to house the mismatched group of war veterans – someone had made a joke about it at one point and the joke had surprisingly stuck – with no intention of leaving anytime soon. They had wounds and they had time. The healing part was the only thing missing.

They were quiet in their togetherness. They laughed softly and spoke in hushed tones. Sometimes they didn't even have to speak at all. They smiled at each other, touched for very brief moments and issued grunts of noncommiting orientation. They were _that _comfortable with each other, all these nakamas, trapped by their own volition in a winter chalet somewhere far away from home. Some issues needed to be addressed, they felt this strongly. But until that dam broke, they were safe in the shadow of the mountains.

There was also a sauna, courtesy of one Matsumoto Rangiku who, despite their original my-give-a-damn's-busted attitude about the whole thing, had turned down various offers when they had somewhat planned this outing – thanks to Captain Hitsugaya who was such a stickler for paperwork – on the sole account of absence of proper rest oriented facilities – as it finally turned up in the report she submitted with livelier eyes. They quirked their eyebrows at her bold idea – hot and cold? – but Rangiku-san had cracked a pervy joke and they felt oddly relieved at the familiarity of it all.

Her little Taichou had even let his mind wander to the ultimately indecent contents of her gigantic suitcases. If it floated her boat, he would happily stir up the waters – that's what he told himself. He would regret it – he knew well – but he'd do – and submit himself to -anything to dull the roaring pain of …whatever they were experiencing right now that felt like…they were somewhere else looking down at themselves and being displeased at what they saw.

Two weeks into their "vacation", they realized they would have liked to stay there indefinitely.

Just stay there, out in the snow, gazing at the never-ending expanse of pure white with a puzzled look in their eyes – like Orihime did, not quite grasping why it felt so wrong but toiling at the concept nonetheless.

Just sit there, sewing at the table, indoors this time, but not far from where a blurb of pink – Inoue-san of course, who else? – was well within a bespectacled range of vision - like Ishida Uryuu did, taking comfort from the soothing rhythm of the threaded needle.

Or drumming out an imaginary tune, lost between strands of dark hazel hair, eyes turned to some inner sanctum where Chad – Sado – lurked the most these days.

Or perhaps upstairs, in one of the many bedrooms that was assigned to no one in particular because everyone hopped beds to extinguish routine, like Hitsugaya-taichou , who served as the one-bodied audience of Matsumoto-fukutaichou as she skimped around – looking _larger _than life - in various outfits meant to fulfill every man's fantasies, while Renji was lounging on the windowsill giving advice as to the ones she might have missed. The little Captain thought she looked exceptionally well as the Naughty Nurse. But he kept that to himself when she teased about it. Their banter, however, never reached their eyes. Meanwhile, the occupant of the windowsill indulged himself in the fantasies he had forever lost.

The only one who actually used the sauna was in fact Rukia, who seemed to have diminished, even in her midget-ness (a word Ichigo had long ago invented for her, but had learned real quick never to use again). She would have blamed it on the horribly oversized bathrobes if anyone had challenged the fact.

No one ever did.

In the heat of the sauna she cursed that. And she did this every evening from five to seven when she claimed the steaming wooden hut as her own. Cursed the leap of her treacherous heart when she thought that _they_ were alive and well and that _they _should be celebrating it.

Body and soul.

But the body was fickle and the soul was broken.

And there was no one there to see the new style to her hair and the flowers she kept adorning her head with.

She had developed quite the routine concerning her recurring trips to the sauna. The heat would sip diligently into her skin, as it did every late afternoon, when everyone was busy being by themselves somewhere else. She would open her eyes languidly and yet her mind's eyes would still be focused on the image as forever unmoving as reality: Ichigo in the kitchen, body at an odd angle, his temple resting against the cool glass pane, in front of him the cold vastness of snow.

Hurting.

His hurt _hurt_. And there was no magic-kick-to-the-shin and no confidence-restoring speech that she could conjure up to make it go away. And – pain of all pains – there was no one there to cure her of his hurt. The worst of all was that seeing him like that day in and day out brought conflicting emotions in her head that reverberated in her heart. She wanted to touch him and feel warmth, the likes of which no sauna in all dimensions could provide. But he seemed to believe that touching was a privilege of which he was eminently undeserving so he emanated only vibrant cold. He was looking away all the time now, his inner vision – that she could sometimes monopolize – was closed to her, to them. And she had promised never to intrude, never soil Ichigo's reclusive inner world, because his feelings and emotions were strong, strong enough to cause damage in himself and in others if not handled with the utmost care. In light of recent events though, Rukia realized that it was a promise she found harder and harder to keep.

It was no surprise then, when one day, Rukia got up and got out of the sauna hut, her fluffy robe trailing behind her in the snow. Heath was never her thing anyway. But this…compressed particles of ice that formed a blanket of pure white over the earth…this was more like it.

Wielded efficiently, powdered snow turned into deadly ice. With a light heart, it could bring joy. The diminutive Shinigami stooped down and rubbed her hands in the familiar cold substance. She rubbed harder and felt the snow melt in her small hands that were now turning into a rather interesting shade of bright red. She grabbed handfuls of snow and morphed them into snowballs that landed aimlessly in the distance. A burst of laughter erupted from her mouth, but it sounded more like a passing snort than anything else. Even laughter was devoid of happiness. Part of her was missing.

It wasn't lost, that considerably large part. She knew exactly where it was and what it was doing. She just couldn't quite reach it, that was all to it. Rukia sighed and her body convulsed. But that was the cold's doing. After all, she was wearing a freakin' bikini underneath all the fluff and it was minus something outside. A debilitating minus something. She turned around to reach for the warmth of the chalet when she was confronted with a scowling face obstructed by a foggy window.

Ah, yes. The Scowling One who was mopping around in the kitchen area. He made cookies cry in your throat. But even the smallest reaction was better than the nearly catatonic state she found him in at times. As she trudged her way back to the house, Rukia began to insistently wonder if Ichigo was indeed watching her…like Renji did from the window above, thinking he was getting away with it. She sometimes worried about that red-head idiot too. Ichigo's state had issued a surprisingly startling reaction from the Sixth Division Vice-Captain.

He freaked out.

No, really, he did.

Oh, she knew he was used to seeing the damn Strawberry go squishy emo over one thing or another, but she also knew that he was however definitely not used to _not _being able to get his friend out of his depression. He had gone from calling him names (and Renji, bless his soul, was inventive as all hell when it came to that), to playing childish pranks (One Kick To Save The Strawberry was her personal favorite), to worrying his spiky hair to baldness over the damn fool.

In the end, Renji took it upon him to at least keep Ichigo alive enough to be depressed: he set a plate of food on the table in the morning and came to collect it half eaten in the evening. He refilled it when it looked like Ichigo had barely noticed its existence, let alone acknowledge his need for sustenance. Renji did not understand how anyone could turn their ugly orange mugs away from _food_, and so his persistence prevailed in the end. Ichigo ate…somewhat…and Renji was left worrying about the effect Ichigo was having on his other friends. Renji was worried – a little late, though, she thought with a trace of amusement – about Rukia and how well she was taking the whole after-mess. Better than the rest of them she would have answered. But no one ever really asked.

The kitchen was considerably less warm than the sauna, but inviting enough after the chilling experience of the biting cold creeping from the shadow of the mountains. Rukia shivered slightly at the difference in temperature and shut the door behind her, leaving herself vulnerable to the tense atmosphere in the rustic looking room. The air here was thick with feelings she could not comprehend, even with her vast experience with remorse and regret. This broken boy – she hesitated calling Human, Shinigami, Vaizard or otherwise – wasn't easy to figure out, no matter how much she bragged about being able to call him on his shit more often than not. She was loathe to admit it, but most of the time she was just plain lucky when guessing the true reasons behind his weird funk moods. Then again, most of the time Ichigo was cooperative and unconsciously supportive of her deductive skills.

Now was not such a time.

"Yo, Ichigo…"

The_ long time no see_ died a small death in her throat. It wasn't that funny anymore.

"Hn…"

Judging by the standards of his depression, that was a conversation onto its own she got right there. It didn't make her feel any better and she had a gosh darn good reason for that too!

She was his nakama.

She was _the _nakama.

She was _more_ than a nakama.

She had come to terms with that. She had thought…she had hoped…she had maybe even imagined that…that… it could be possible…for her…to…to…have a place…not a big one, mind you…but just a small place in _his_ heart that she wouldn't have to share with anyone else. When she really thought about it – more often than her pride would let her get away with – it seemed that wasn't far off from what Ichigo wanted too. So, this whole not speaking and not communicating issue they had now was frustrating as all hell. And she didn't take frustrated too well.

Consequently, Kuchiki Rukia threw a snowball in his face and felt accomplished.

Ichigo felt something cold and wet slinking down the side of his face and dripping onto his curled fingers. The biting _Idiot!_ remark fluttered quietly past his lips but he didn't stir much.

It was then that Rukia proceeded on feeling ignored. That wasn't something that sat particularly well with her either.

She immediately pounced on the narrow kitchen sofa in a flurry of fluffy white cotton and firmly anchored her hands in his ridiculous orange hair she ceased finding extremely becoming…for the moment. In an attempt to release all the pent-up frustration and emotions boiling within her, she pulled and snarled with all the vengeance she could muster between clenched teeth:

"What did you just _not_ say, tawake?!!!"

His abused head snapped backwards and Rukia got to see a very interesting view of his unfocused brown eyes upside-down. Something sparkled to life in their depths but it was fragile and tinier than he normally accused Rukia of being. She clung to that though and refused to let go.

"Kuchiki…-saaaan…?"A befuddled Orihime inquired from the slightly open door.

"Ichigo is ignoring me!" the diminutive Kuchiki clenched her fists harder to the point their redness offset said individuals's natural hair color quite nicely.

"Oh, okaaaaaaay." Sure, she knew how that felt like. The door was closed.

Rukia just harrumphed in response:

"Okay, this is starting to hurt _me_." The unclenching of the fists followed suite.

"You just realized that?"

His voice had always carried a gruff vibe to it that complimented his nearly permanent scowl and starkly contrasted his youthful years. Now it was cracked with misuse. Hearing it – because she was that close or she would have missed it – Rukia let go of his hair altogether and let her hands fall on either side of his neck. Free of constraint, the captive orange head lolled back against the window, effectively trapping one of Rukia's arms between his cheek and the cool glass. It must've felt somewhat good, because he sighed and moved not to release it. In fact, his other hand motioned to wrap itself around the invading appendage still laying limp on his other shoulder. For a moment there, Rukia thought he was going to give her a piggy-back of some twisted kind.

"I'm not hurt, injured, sick or in any way impaired. None of us are." Ok, so that was a big fat lie Rukia had just let loose, but he wasn't facing her, so it was not like the thick skull could tell. "So what's the deal?"

He squeezed a little tighter and Rukia felt something stirring underneath his skin.

"I'm hurt, injured, sick and in every way impaired."

It was a current of some sort she felt and she closed in on his body to get a better feel for it. She remembered how his power flowed through her a long time ago, when he was still innocent and drunk with his newly acquired strength. This was not the same. This made his body tense and his shoulders tight with the invisible weight of the world precariously perched atop of them. This power build a barrier between him and the rest of them who cared so deeply about him that was hard to break, either from outside or from the inside.

She figured this was his way of trying.

"Ichigo," she mumbled from somewhere between his clothes' line and his hair, "just so you know, I'm running out of clever pep-talks full of my overwhelming wisdom and experience."

He'd been brutally honest with her, she thought she'd return the favor

"You're muse is dead, huh? Che, never thought I'd see the day."

"Shut up, I can still be noisy. I'm here, am I not? Idiot!"

"Ah…"

"Was that an acknowledgement of your idiocy? 'Cause it is about high damn time!"

But Ichigo didn't take the bait, just brushed his cheek more insistently against her hand. Then sighed and stopped. His warm breath felt moist on her hand. Rukia shivered and moved her thumb to caress what she could reach of his face. He didn't acknowledge that, she could tell by the way the back of his head remained obstinately pale rather than burning red with his usual bouts of embarrassment. Quite bravely, she kissed it then, a quick peck on the fuzzy skin just there under her nose, and still didn't get a thing.

She was seriously beginning to contemplate more direct approaches.

"I know what you're trying to do." Ichigo croaked again, with a little more force behind his words. It stung and hurt a thousand times over. But at least he must have felt _that_ – her going rigid all of a sudden and a traitorous whimper she didn't have the hands to reign in – because he continued in what seemed an attempt at a softer tone of voice.

"And believe me when I tell you it would have worked any other day. God, how it would have worked…"

Rukia drew herself closer, closer to his body, closer to his unquenchable aura, closer to his intoxicating scent. Nothing could ever be wrong about Ichigo's scent. She had seen him in various states of wear, physical and emotional and partly dead or…well, she hadn't exactly seen _that _of which no one dared utter a word…but the scent was there all the same. She lived in his room, in his closet, in his house, she was used to it, heck, she was practically wearing it on her right now, because it never wore off. She took deep breaths of it, right from the side of his neck, where it was strongest and whispered calmly:

"This is just another day."

Ichigo tilted his head so that it would rest atop of hers and closed his eyes against the dark strands.

He sounded like a tired grown-up lecturing a disobedient child.

"You keep saying that, but it won't make it go away…"

"There's nothing I want to make go away."

And no, she wasn't insane or some closet masochist like one of her more lewd manga characters. She actually made sense…in her head.

"I just want _you_ to come back. And talk to me. Or listen to me. Or both. Nobody wants to talk to me or listen to me. Everybody hurts. I hurt too. But not like I used to. You know how frightening that is? To realize that all the horrible things I've lived through don't matter anymore when you're like this? I'm stronger now, Ichigo, I really am, but when I'm here like this and you're here like this and we're close, Ichigo, and I want us to be closer, closer, closer and you're not really by my side, or one giant step ahead, or following my lead, like you damn well should be, and you don't feel me and you can't hear what I'm trying to say, well, then I feel more helpless than the smallest critter on this Earth!"

She wasn't the type to cry big, fat tears really, but this time she made an exception. He was always the exception to her carefully laid out rules. She now governed her life according to that one simple, undeniable truth.

"You said we'd be connected. Forever and ever. And I thought you were being silly and childish and horribly cheesy. But you were right, you damn fool! It's just that now I feel connected to a dead line. So you'd better pick up the phone and talk to me, 'cause it feels so lonely down here…"

God, how he could make her so angry sometimes!

Ichigo shifted slightly before going all the way round and sitting a small sniffling bundle of fluffiness on his lap and hugging her fiercely, with a certain type of desperation that only people as young as he still was possess.

"I did bad things, Rukia."

The woman in question closed her tearing eyes against his chest and fisted her hands in his shirt. This is it, she thought to herself, the crack in the wall. One good punch and the stone circle would finally crumble down.

"Failing to protect…that's…that's nothing. Nothing. I did evil things. I was an evil thing. Part of me still is. Can you understand that?"

"Yes."

Ichigo tangled his hand in her hair.

"Really? 'Cause I don't think you can."

"I did evil things too!" Rukia bristled._ Let me in, let me in_, her heart screamed.

Ichigo smiled bitterly and kissed the top of her head.

"This isn't a pissing contest, Rukia. You did what you had to do."

And he held a little tighter to her, just before leaning in and whispering in her ear.

"What I did…went beyond that…"

"You died…" She was faltering and she knew it. The crack was closing in on itself.

"Don't turn that into an excuse, Rukia. Don't let what you know about me mess with the ugly truth. Don't think for one second that I don't know how tempting that might be. To have you in my arms and have you…_caring…_and…_hurting_…for me and say: "Rukia, I died and turned into a monster and I feel like shit", wouldn't that be so easy? But I'd just be lying to make you…me…us…feel better. Would you really want that?"

The tears came back with a vengeance.

"Would it make me a horrible person if I say yes?" she was beginning to sob hysterically and couldn't help herself. Damn it! Why couldn't they have it easy for a change!

"Fair enough. But the catch is…" and he nudged her head to look in her eyes "Rukia, you'd never say that."

She looked up at him and saw her reflection in his eyes. An almost tender expression graced his features, a look of longing and something else that looked like…

"I…chi…go…"

He smiled at her and cupped her face as tenderly as he could. His skin was darker than hers, but then again she was so beautifully pale. His voice was gruff and low when he spoke and made her body catch fire and her heart burn, burn, burn.

"Rukia, as dumb as you say I am, even I can tell you have the purest soul I've ever seen on someone dead or alive." He carefully wiped the tears away. "I can barely catch a glimpse of own my soul these days and it's all muddled and dark. And sometimes I fear that as much as it needs you, it'll end up destroying you. And I'd rather die, go straight to Aizen and let him finish me off for good before letting that happen."

"_No…"_

He kissed her forehead and chuckled eerily while her insides were turning to smoldering ashes.

"Would that do the trick? Sometimes I wonder…"

Carrying her battered heart on her sleeve, Rukia took a giant leap and claimed back the boy she had tied her destiny to. Her hands crawled to his face, vicious in their grip, and she kissed his jaw, his lips – the taste, God, the taste – his eyes, anywhere she could reach.

"I won't let you, I won't let you, I won't…I Will Not!"

Ichigo had the indignity to laugh at her frantic movements. He laughed quietly, though, and reduced her kisses to a lasting one on the lips.

Rukia convulsed rhythmically against his sad face, but reveled nonetheless in the warmth and heartbreaking force of his kiss. It's clumsy, but it's good, so very good. And she needed his touch, this she could not deny. But this was more than physical contact. This was a full blown statement and she wanted him to know that. That if ever there had been a choice, she had made it a long time ago. That they shared a bond no one and nothing could erase. That Ichigo was a fool to believe that _he, _of all people and forces of this universe, with his indomitable strength, could severe that link just because he wanted her safe from himself and from the darkness in his heart. Especially when she wanted all of that, because she wanted all of him.

She was first to break the kiss, but didn't let go and instead chose to touch her forehead to his. All of a sudden, she could feel Ichigo everywhere. His long lashes touching hers, his hands firmly anchored on her waist, his breath on her face and his taste on her tongue, his aura swirling madly around them. He was definitely getting carried away. That made her chuckle.

"It's not so easy, is it? Letting go… The heart is a treacherous thing, Ichigo" she whispered tantalizingly close to his lips and he moved as if to follow. His hands gripped harder and then relented. And then they gripped harder still, because her bathrobe had come undone and now there was skin involved.

"You've made up your mind, you've strengthened your resolve and then the heart does this funny thing and turns the tables on you so fast, you're spinning out of control."

Ichigo _was_ spinning out of control. He had always been a little too addicted to her being constantly around him, but now he could really get addicted to her being constantly around him in a completely different way. Which took him utterly by surprise, because he didn't think they were quite there yet. He didn't dare to think it. And here he was now, daring to do a whole lot more than thinking and actually nudging the annoying cloth away from Rukia's minimally clad body. It looked white and felt hot. And it responded to his inquisitive hands with a passion he would…could…not believe. This wasn't exactly what he set out to do when he thought about settling things with Rukia.

Rukia laced her arms around his neck and kissed him again, softly at first, reassuringly even, trying to put to rest any insecurities he might have still been harboring. Tentatively, she parted his lips with her own, gliding her tongue alongside his for the briefest of touches, before pulling back and inviting him to follow.

Which Ichigo, under the unforgivable sway of momentum, did.

And kept doing it for some time.

When he finally stopped, it was because although oxygen was not as good as Rukia in his arms, and Rukia's pretty lips and Rukia's kisses and Rukia's overall existence, it was still sort of vital for his existence.

"You're ruining this", he managed to breathe out.

"What? Your carefully build image? Been doing that for a long time, tawake."

"You're taking unnecessary risks!"

"You're insulting me."

"I'm protecting you. Big difference!"

"That wasn't what you were doing a few moments ago."

As if on cue, Ichigo turned brilliantly pink.

The moment she started laughing, he buried his face in her neck, which only made her laugh harder at the irony of his actions. And at Ichigo's boyish charm that always made some sort of nonsensical comeback.

"Stop doing that!" Ichigo reprimanded with a groan. "You don't know what you're doing to me!"

Rukia brushed her fingers through his soft orange hair and sighed wistfully.

"Hmmm…Maybe just getting you a little out of character."

Ichigo's only response was to smile against her fragrant skin and very seriously decide that if the stone circle didn't fall any time soon, he could always jump the fence.


End file.
